Supernatural Drabbles
by Alcalculia
Summary: A series of Supernatural drabbles, mostly centred around the Winchester brothers. Might continue if I get a positive response. I do not own Supernatural. R&R!
1. Lock

'It's locked.' Said Dean, pulling out his lock pick set. It was getting somewhat rusty. It had been a while since he'd used it.  
He fumbled with it for a few moments, before Sam cleared his throat loudly, and looked pointedly at Cas, who stood oblivious.  
'Cas?' Said Sam, nodding towards the door.  
Cas blinked.  
'The door?'  
Cas must've caught on, because he raised a hand to the door and pressed his palm down against it. The lock glowed a faint blue for a split second, before the door swung right open.  
Dean sighed, and closed his lock pick set.  
He guessed it would have to stay rusty.


	2. Paper Cut

A drop of blood fell onto the book Sam was reading.  
A paper cut.  
It was starting to sting, now that he'd noticed it, and blood was still welling up. Damn, he'd have to go wash his hand before he could finish reading the book. It was ancient, and Sam didn't want to damage it. He and Dean were tracking... something. It seemed to be killing randomly, and it was giving Sam a headache.  
He sighed and pushed his chair out, crossing to the bunker kitchen, where he'd be able to wash the cut. Sam turned on the tap and rinsed his hand, paying no attention as he wondered if there were band -aids in the bunker. If the bleeding didn't stop, he'd need to cover it.  
He looked down to find that his cut had disappeared.  
Just gone.  
He re-examined his finger.  
Nothing.

Thoroughly confused, Sam decided to finish his chapter and get an early night.  
As he crossed back to the room he'd come from, the contents of the bin caught his eye.

Colourful lolly wrappers.


	3. Sunglasses

Dean squinted against the sun. 'Why is it so damn sunny?'  
Sam smiled 'It's summer Dean. Put on some sunglasses.'  
He rifled through the contents of the dashboard for a few seconds before he unearthed a pair of scratched sunglasses. Better than nothing. He passed them to Dean, who reluctantly put them on.  
'Do I look like a fly, Sammy?' He asked, pulling a face.  
Sam laughed openly this time. 'Like a huge fly with huge eyes.'  
Dean joined in.

Dean keeps those sunglasses on the dash still, where he can see them. He likes to remember that afternoon, and every fibre of his being wants to be able to relive it, one more time.  
But the conversation is one - sided now, and the laughter is hollow and empty.  
There is no one to sit in the passenger seat anymore.

Dean looks at the battered sunglasses, and his heart aches.


	4. I always am

So many things could have happened if...  
Dean sat back. Alcohol induced thoughtfulness was unlike him, and he wasn't sure he liked it.  
What would have happened if Sam had died? They'd just come from a vampire hunt, returning to the bunker for a few days to recuperate. A nasty slash had been inflicted on Sam's upper thigh by one of said vamp's blades.  
Cas had healed him, but what if he hadn't?  
Sam would have died.  
Blood loss in Dean's arms, and if not that, infection in the bunker.  
Dean took another sip from the glass in his hand. The whiskey burned the back of his throat, and he sighed. They'd lived like this, one hunt after the other, for far too long.  
He couldn't imagine a reality in which he and Sam had not grown up hunting. He wanted to, desperately, but he couldn't.  
He didn't know if he'd ever be able to.  
But then there was a scenario that he could imagine all too clearly. It was a thought that plagued him constantly, and it scared him that it came so easily to mind. This was a reality in which Sam had died.  
A reality that came bitterly close to being _reality._

Sam realised Dean's eyes had been on him for a while. 'Are you okay?' he asked, concern for his brother obvious in his knotted eyebrows. Dean rearranged his facial features, settling on his facade of carelessness.

'Course I am, Sammy. I always am.'

He raised his whiskey to his mouth again.


	5. Glitter

Sam and Dean wandered back to the Impala in the dark, Dean with a shovel flung over his left shoulder and Sam swinging an empty fuel drum at his side, also carrying a cigarette lighter in his pocket.  
All the materials needed for burning a body, which was incidentally what they'd just done.  
They reached the black doors of the Impala, both boys unloading their respective equipment into the trunk. Slamming it shut, Dean looked over to where Sam stood.  
'You know what, Sammy?' He asked, causing his younger brother to hesitate before opening the door to the passenger side.  
'What?' Replied Sam, with some trepidation.  
'Glitter.' Dean said, ducking into the driver's side. 'I really hate glitter.'


	6. But Dreaming is Free

There were many things Dean Winchester needed to pay for.  
He needed to pay for his father's lack of love, and he paid that to Sammy. All the affection his father withheld, Dean paid ten times to his little brother.  
Dean needed to pay for what he'd done in hell. Torturing all those souls, watching them contort in agony and terror and pain as he burned their humanity away.  
Yes, Dean needed to pay for what he'd done in hell  
But when he woke up from yet another nightmare, and closed his eyes and tried to calm his heartbeat, he thought, deperately to himself:

But dreaming is free.


End file.
